James Fitzpatrick takes his middle-class audience yearning for a taste of the exotic and Technicolor to some standard tourist spots in Sydney and Melbourne, then on to some beauty spots in Australia's Blue Hills. Hone Glendinning, who traveled far and wide to shoot the pictures that would be edited and then ruined by Fitzpatrick's banal, stentorian maunderings, offers his usual high standard of work.
I note that, yes indeed, Fitzpatrick narrates this movie like a White man born in 1894, making a movie about a land that was 90% Caucasian for an audience that was also 90% Caucasian. That's because he was that, not a 2019 Woke Hipster. It's certainly good to keep that in mind when viewing this 80-year-old short film, yet I find it odd that the the major takeaway is that 80 years ago, people thought differently.
I'm as annoyed by Fitzpatrick as anyone else, but it's for his narration's inanity offered through a bullhorn.